


We Never Said Our Love Was Evergreen

by PumpkinspiceLou (CatyDreamDwyer)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, M/M, tagging is so hard for me I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatyDreamDwyer/pseuds/PumpkinspiceLou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry takes his position at the top of the grand staircase, eyes washing over the crowd. It’s a sea of formality, ornate fish following the waves the music dictates, the current of Victorian tradition. Harry begins to wonder if perhaps that is his problem. Being stuck in an endless circle is why what he yearns for most in this world is still so cruelly out of his reach. Before the thought can grow and wreak havoc though, something catches Harry’s eye in the middle of the ballroom.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>OR A Victorian Masquerade Ball AU where Harry is basically the Phantom of the Opera</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Never Said Our Love Was Evergreen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karukara's Writing Contest](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Karukara%27s+Writing+Contest).



> My entry into Karukara's larry masquerade writing contest! Yay! :D 
> 
> So this sort of word vomitted out of me, I'm not going to lie, so I apologise if it doesn't make sense. Also, I'm not sure where the Phantom of the Opera vibe came from, but I just rolled with it (and made the title lyrics from one of the musical numbers) :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and if you have any questions, comments, or feedback, feel free to [tweet me](http://twitter.com/pumpknspiceLou) :)

The sweet sounds of violins echoes in the large expanse of the room. The tinkling of a flute and the low thrum of a cello mix in, creating a melodious tune that bounces off the high climbing walls and the vaulted ceiling. He can almost see it, the colour of the sounds dancing in the air. They’re bright shades that float and stir the emotions that expand in the lines of his veins. He had always felt like the music gave him life, like it was the sound that fuelled him on each time. Of course then he looks out at the see of dancing bodies across the ballroom, and he thinks that maybe it’s something a bit different overflowing his being. 

This week’s ball is hosted by a Sir McKenzie. It’s meant to be a coming out ball for his youngest daughter who just celebrated her sixteenth birthday, but it’s clear through the way Sir McKenzie flits through a sea of dresses that there are ulterior motives. Of course, Harry supposes that his motives aren’t exactly the purest either. 

Harry stays perched in his spot at the top of the grand staircase as couples descend to the party around him. He scans the floor of nicely dressed bodies, trying to recognise a familiar face under all the masks. It’s always the same upper class crowd at these balls and yet there’s always a new face, something new to catch Harry’s eye. They say if you give a man a mask, he will tell you the truth, and Harry can see it. From the dame accepting drink after drink from the trays of the circling waiters to the man with gold glinting on his finger under the chandelier light who has his hand on the lower back of a young woman, secrets are revealed. It makes anticipation and excitement thrum deep in his gut. It was the loss of inhibitions that comes with a masquerade ball that first attracted Harry to these balls. He was sure that this environment would be the perfect place to find exactly what he’s looking for. 

Harry slowly makes his way down the steps and onto the main floor. He snags a glass of wine as he passes a waiter and begins weaving through the dancing couples. He receives some dirty looks for interrupting the waltz playing, but Harry keeps his head held high and his strides determined, even flashing the occasional charming smile at some of the younger women and men, eliciting blushes and down turned eyes. Harry can almost detect something else morphing onto some of the faces he passes, like strained recognition, but he’s not deterred. He makes his way over to the table decorated with delectable desserts. He steals a single rose from one of the vases adorning the corners of the table before turning around to face the dancing once more. He brings the rose to his face, inhaling the sweet scent and letting the silky petals tickle his cheeks, as his eyes assess the room. They follow along the wall, taking in the different guests sitting and standing while idly conversing. 

And then Harry sees him. He sits across the room, tea in hand as he laughs with another gentleman, and although Harry has never been able to pinpoint what it is that lures him in, he knows that this man is the one. He’s sure this time. There’s something about the way the man wears a dark blue dress coat and trousers instead of the traditional black, the way the red of the ribbon for his mask contrasts with the blonde of his hair, the way he throws his head back in laughter whenever the man with the darker hair and tanned skin says something. Or maybe there is no one thing. Either way, Harry makes his way over. It’s a first when he goes unnoticed for a moment, neither of the gentleman even casting him a cursory glance. Harry clears his throat until the conversation comes to an abrupt end. Both faces turn to face him, and he gives his best charming smile. 

“I apologise for the interruption gentleman, but may I have this dance? I do love a good waltz,” Harry says, bowing and extending his hand holding the rose towards the blonde. 

“Oh,” the man glances at the dark haired gentleman before turning to face Harry fully, and Harry revels in the way a blush cascades over the man’s cheeks, giving his pale skin a sunset glow. 

“Is that a yes?” Harry askes, his smiling morphing into a playful smirk. 

“I don’t see the harm in one dance. I love a waltz meself.” 

Harry’s heart gives a jolt of excitement as the gentleman accepts the rose and takes Harry’s hand in his. Harry wastes no time in pulling the gentleman out of his seat and leading him out onto the ballroom floor. The man stumbles a bit behind him, but Harry turns to steady him with hands at his hips before taking his hand and adopting the stance for the waltz. 

The music begins slow and soft, the strings rolling through the crowd while the wind instruments provided a soft harmony. It isn’t long before the music crescendos, filling the room to the brim with the lovely sound. Harry leads the gentleman with grace across the floor, the music swelling inside him as he glides through the three steps. As the music descends again into a light tinkling, the gentleman speaks up. 

“You never said your name, mate. Mine is Niall by the way.” 

“I thought we wore these masks for anonymity. I believe that’s the fun in it.” 

“Oh right. I forgot…” 

“That’s alright,” Harry says, leaning forward to press his lips to Niall’s ear. “You’re secret is safe with me.” 

The smaller man shudders in Harry’s arms and when he pulls back the lovely blush from before has run rampant again. When Niall makes no other comment, Harry fears their exchange has gone too deep too quickly, so he smiles lightly and dips Niall, bringing back a playful atmosphere. 

“Of course, you’re secret may have already been revealed from your poor mask. The blue of your eyes reflects in the chandelier, you know.” 

“Zayn said the same thing! He said my eyes looked like sapphires.” 

“Sapphires are beautiful gems. My mother used to wear sapphires.” 

“Used to?” 

Harry stops in his steps as the conductor signals the end of the dance for the musicians. He smiles again, remembering being told that his dimples were his best attribute, as he fixes his cape around his shoulders. 

“Shall we have refreshments now? Dancing can be quite tiring.” 

“Oh um sounds lovely.” 

Harry nods and leads the way to the outskirts of the ballroom dance floor, keeping a light but firm hand on Niall’s elbow. Harry steps forward as they approach a waiter, taking two glasses from the tray in one hand and bowing graciously in thanks. He then turns back to face Niall and holds out a glass in offering. 

“Thank you,” Niall says, taking a sip. 

“You know Sir McKenzie has such a lovely manor. Should we take a look around?” 

“Is that allowed?” 

“Does it matter?”

“Well…” Niall bites his lip, and Harry watches as he turns his head back to scan through the crowd. 

“It will be fun! Come on.” 

Harry places a hand on Niall’s lower back and leads him away from the ballroom as another song begins. The music follows them into an empty corridor where it echoes and fades out in time with their steps. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” Niall whispers. 

“And how would I know that?” Harry asks, opening a door that leads into a drawing room, wide windows along the far wall framing the large garden painted under a starry sky. 

“I guess—” Niall pauses after he enters the room, holding his hand in one hand and grasping one of edges of an armchair in the other. “I suddenly feel quite dizzy.”

\---

Harry leans against the side of the window, watching the chimneys billow smoke that wisps away and becomes part of the night sky. They’re like the exhales of the life under the line of roofs. It makes something ping deep inside Harry’s chest. Before he can dwell on it, though, there’s a rustling across the room. Harry turns back to face the room and watches curiously as the boy starts to stir. He blinks and rubs at his eyes before his whole body tenses. He bolts upright into a seated position and his head frantically looks around the room before settling on Harry’s figure in the corner.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” Harry says, keeping his voice quiet and gentle. “Can I—”

“Where am I?!” 

“My home. Now are you sure—”

“Oh god. Oh god, you’re _him_.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“They warned me about you and everything. I’m so stupid. I’m going to die!” 

Harry is beginning to grow worried for this boy’s health. His breathing is heavy and his movements are wild. He looks like he’s only a small time away from dying of fright. If Harry can just get him to lie back down, he can go and get some chamomile tea and they can figure out where this notion of death came from. Harry steps out of the shadows and towards the boy, but it has the opposite of the calming effect he was hoping for. The boy cowers towards the head of the bed, his eyes wide and terrified. 

“Don’t touch me! Stay away from me!” 

“Listen, Stephen,” Harry says, taking a careful step forward. “You said you’re name was Stephen, right? I just—”

“I said stay away from me, you freak!” 

The comment makes Harry’s blood run cold, tiny spikes of ice digging into his nerve ends. He refuses to let it show though, schooling his expression into one of cool ease. He squares his shoulder and swallows thickly before setting his gaze on this Stephen. 

“I am not a freak, and I don’t appreciate—”

“Not a freak?! You kidnap people for what? Pleasure? Get a kick out of it? You’re just as bad as that Ripper!” 

“Do not compare me to that monster!” Harry growls in response, disappointed that he’s given into Stephen’s egging and risen his voice. 

“Why not?” Stephen sneers. “You’re both of the same blood.” 

Harry feels so many emotions flood through his system, that he doesn’t even know where to start to feel, worries he may fall to the floor with the weight they stir in his veins. There’s anger that sparks at this boy’s accusations when he knows nothing of Harry, but at the same time there’s a sadness that dowses the flames. A pain at the harsh names and comparisons that are not true, are not warranted in Harry’s opinion. Harry wants just like any other person, and since when was desire cause for such cruel ridicule. So even though his hands shake and his head suddenly feels cloudy, Harry takes another step forward and pleads with Stephen, defending himself with desperation.

“I am not a monster. I am but a man. I have desires and I have a heart. And my heart beats just like yours, and it beats to find love. To have and to hold pretty things, and you are such a pretty thing.” 

Harry watches Stephen with wide eyes, hoping to see a glimmer of change on his face, for the lines of his grimace to soften, for his muscles to loosen, for the atmosphere around them to stop buzzing with tension. Instead, before Harry can even blink, Stephen leaps from the bed and runs towards the door along the opposite wall. He yanks it open and turns his head back to Harry with narrowed eyes. 

“Hate to break it to you, but you are. You wear a mask and everything. You’re not even human.” 

With one last scoff, Stephen rushes down the steps and away, and Harry is left standing alone in the room with ringing ears and a heavy heart. 

When the invitation comes for the next masquerade ball, he decides not to attend.

\---

To celebrate their marriage anniversary, Sir Lamberth and his wife host a masquerade ball at their manor home, inviting every socialite from London to Edinburgh to attend. Harry takes his time getting ready before the event, spending extra time in the bath to get into the mind set for the night. He sorts his hair into some semblance of order and adds a bit of rouge to his lips to give them more colour. He settles his cape over his shoulders and ties his signature mask over his face. After one last look in the mirror, Harry makes his way out of his home and into the night.

When he arrives at the Lamberth manor, the ball is already full swing. The ballroom is full of more people than usual, spinning in time to the music, creating a rainbow of billowing dresses. Harry takes his position at the top of the grand staircase, eyes washing over the crowd. It’s a sea of formality, ornate fish following the waves the music dictates, the current of Victorian tradition. Harry begins to wonder if perhaps that is his problem. Being stuck in an endless circle is why what he yearns for most in this world is still so cruelly out of his reach. Before the thought can grow and wreak havoc though, something catches Harry’s eye in the middle of the ballroom. 

There’s a man dancing, but he appears to be straying from the classic waltz going on around him. The man’s partner is clearly trying to lead, his knuckles white where they grip the man’s shoulder and his knees knocking against the man’s knees as he tries to take the correct steps. Despite the efforts, the man is having none of it, adding his own steps and flare much to the dismay of those dancing around the pair. The partner appears to grow tiresome of his efforts and soon the man pulls away completely and begins dancing alone. Harry can see some of the looks of confusion and disgust even from so far away, but the sight makes a smile pull at the corner of his lips. 

Perhaps finding his target for tonight will be easier than he originally thought. 

Harry descends down the stairs, grabbing a rose along the way and keeping his eyes on this man. About half way down, Harry watches the man sulk off away from the dancing after his fleeing partner, and he gives them a minute before making his way along the fringes of the party towards them. 

“Pardon me,” Harry begins, making both gentlemen snap their heads towards him. “I do hate to interrupt, but I wished to compliment you on your dancing.” 

“See, Liam? Some people did appreciate it! Told you you were a stick in the mud!” 

“Well then you two are perfect for each other. I’m going to find a new partner, and you can dance with him, you twat.” 

The gentleman, Liam apparently, has a firm stance with his hands on his hips and his head cocked that contradict the playful tone to his words that suggest he doesn’t mean them. Nonetheless, he walks away from the man and Harry, weaving his way through the crowd of people and disappearing. 

“So, did you really mean that about my dancing? Or were you just taking the mick?” 

“Oh no, I meant it. It’s nice to see a change. These sort of things can become quite boring.” 

“Tell me about it. I almost didn’t come if not for Liam dragging me along.” 

“Well I am glad you chose to attend.” 

“Thank you. Louis Tomlinson by the way,” the man sticks his hand out between him and Harry, his lips pulling into a beautiful smile. 

Harry takes the proffered hand and bows, pressing a kiss to the top of Louis’ hand. He straightens back up and adjusts his cape on his shoulder, levelling Louis with his perfected grin. 

“You know you’re supposed to say your name back, mate.” 

“But we have these masks for a reason.” 

“You going to leave your shoe at the door at midnight too then, Cinderella?” 

“Not without a dance first of course. Shall we?” 

“Alright mystery man. I don’t see why not.” 

Louis turns his hand over where it still rests in Harry’s so that their palms press together and pulls Harry out into the centre of the ballroom. Harry can feel Louis’ pulse through the soft skin, and it gives him a rush of anticipation. The way Louis’ delicate fingers squeeze into the crevices of Harry’s long ones distracts him long enough to not realise that Louis has manoeuvred them so he’s leading until after the music starts. 

“You know typically the taller person leads,” Harry points out, trying to follow Louis’ steps. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Louis teases before getting Harry to spin out and under his arm. 

“I suppose that’s true,” Harry comments, before forcibly taking the lead. “But some traditions shouldn’t be meddled with.” 

Louis looks angry for only a moment before he allows Harry to lead him across the floor in a grand waltz. Harry is sure to make it into a performance, adding in spins and dips for flare and allowing his cape to billow around them like a curtain, the chandelier above their spotlight. 

When the music comes to a grand finale, Harry dips Louis lows and presents the rose to him. The smaller man gracefully accepts the gesture and uses Harry’s shoulders to right himself onto his feet again. 

“Well you certainly know how to dance,” Louis says, bringing the rose to his nose. 

“Thank you. Should we get some refreshments now?” 

“Why yes, we should. I am quite parched after that.” 

With a hand on the small of Louis’ back, Harry leads them both towards the outer skirts of the room and towards the refreshment table. He grabs two glasses before turning around and presenting one to Louis. 

“Thanks, mate,” Louis says, taking a sip and surveying the room. 

“There certainly is a lot of people, no?” Harry asks, sparking up a conversation. 

“Well the Lamberth’s did invite everyone in England. It’s the only reason I’m here actually.” 

“You travelled in then?” 

“I did. This is my first big fancy London masquerade.” 

“Then you haven’t seen the whole of Lamberth manor. It’s quite lovely. I’m particularly fond of the library. Shall we go see it?” 

“Sneak away from the party, eh? I’m starting to like you mystery man,” Louis says with a smirk before downing the rest of his drink and starting towards the door. “Come on then!” 

Harry sets his down before taking quick strides to follow after Louis down the corridor connecting to the ballroom. He makes sure to keep a few steps behind after he catches up, watching Louis look around curiously. 

“You don’t know where you’re going. Shouldn’t I be leading?” 

“You and leading, honestly,” Louis scoffs, turning right when the corridor splits. 

“It’s to the left.” 

“I know. I was just testing you.” 

Even with his stubbornness, Louis eventually finds the library; although, as they draw closer, he keeps pausing to shake his head. They push past the large wooden doors, and Louis has a curious glance around. Harry watches the way the smaller man keeps blinking repeatedly and opening his eyes extra wide every few seconds. 

“So um this is—” Louis clears his throat and rubs at his forehead. “This is the uh library. It’s uh oh geez.” 

Before Louis can finish his sentence, his body goes limp and he falls back, but Harry is there to catch him. He gently manoeuvres Louis in his arms to carry him bridal style then weaves through the bookcases towards the windows. Once he gets the window open, Harry jumps out, careful not to knock or jostle Louis’ body in his arms. Then he disappears into the night with his prize. 

When Harry returns home, he carries Louis up to his room and lays the man down on his bed. He lights all the lanterns in the room and hangs his cape in his wardrobe before fetching a glass of water and leaving it by the bed for Louis when he wakes up. Harry then takes up his usual spot near the window, watching out at the city below. There’s no stars shining down tonight, signalling a storm must be rolling in. Harry always loved the way the rain pattered against and streaked down his window. It was calming in a way. 

A sharp intake of breath pulls Harry away from the window, as he turns to face a now waking Louis. Louis sits up slowly with a groan, rubbing at his temples before sliding his mask off his face. He glances around the room, his brows pinching and a small frown pulling at the ends of his lips, as he takes in his surroundings. 

“Oh,” Louis says. Then his eyes settle on Harry’s figure. “ _Oh_.”

Louis cocks his head at Harry, raising one eyebrow and leaning back on his hands on the bed. His body stance is relaxed, but his face is almost taunting with a small smirk tugging at the corners, and it’s a look Harry’s never seen in this circumstance before. 

“You know I always thought you were one of those legends they tell to children to scare them about strangers. Guess you’re real after all.” 

Harry watches with confusion as something sparks in the blues of Louis’ eyes before the smirk grows on his face. His expression is almost daring. 

“Actually, you are quite pale in this light. Are you sure you’re not just a ghost?” 

“That’s very rude of you to say,” Harry finally speaks up. 

“Let’s say it’s a defence mechanism,” Louis says, waving a hand in dismissal. “You know for being drugged and kidnapped and brought to your lair.”

“A lair implies we’re underground and I can assure you we’re very much above.” 

“Ooo! A tower then!” Louis clambers off the bed and makes his way towards Harry on still shaky legs. “Do you have a nice view? Hopefully it’s of the river and not something dreadful like Whitechapel.” 

“Have a look for yourself,” Harry offers, stepping away from the window to allow Louis to see. 

“You’re not going to push me off, are you? I know everyone wants to outdo Jack, but that seems a bit dramatic.” 

“You seem quite dramatic.” 

Louis turns to lean against the opposite wall of the window, facing Harry. “What can I say? I was born for the stage! Or… I think so. My father disagrees.” 

“I think you’d make a lovely lead at the Opera,” Harry comments, voice quiet. 

Louis’ eyes seem to soften at the remark, and his lips twitch with a smile. It’s dark in the room even with the lanterns lit, but Harry still thinks he can detect a dusting of pink across Louis’ tanned cheeks. Harry wants to step closer to see for sure, imagines Louis would look even more beautiful with a blush. Before he can, though, Louis turns back towards the window and looks out at the night. 

“You can’t even see anything! It’s just darkness! Oh wait.” Louis presses his nose right up against the window and cups his hands over the glass around his eyes. “I think that’s a street lantern there…?” 

“The view is much more beautiful in the day light, I assure you.” 

“Well, guess I’ll just have to wait until the morning then,” Louis says, pulling away from the window and going back over to plop down on the bed. “So now what?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“What happens now? What do you do with your kinappees after they wake up?” 

“Oh… Well to be honest I’ve never really gotten this far. Everyone’s usually screamed and fled by now.” 

“You don’t even have a plan?” 

“Um…” Harry glances around the room, desperate to find something to say. “I could get you something more to drink?” 

Louis glances at the cup of water beside, eying it with suspicion before facing Harry again with a raised eyebrow. “No offence, mate, but I don’t really trust you with drinks anymore.” 

“Right…” 

“What about food? ‘m starving.” 

“Of course. I’ll have something prepared.” 

Harry moves out of the corner he’s settled in and towards the line of servant bells near the doorway. He rings the one for the kitchen and waits until it’s rung back to signal the kitchen’s understanding before he turns back to where Louis is still sprawled out across his bed. 

“So are you going to tell me who you are now?” Louis asks. “You’re obviously someone of high status, since you’re invited to all the events and have servants, and I’m assuming this is some sort of manor?” 

“It is not important,” Harry dismisses, quickly. 

“Can I at least see your face? I think I’ve deserved it being drugged and kidnapped.” 

Harry moves back into the shadows in instinct, but just like before, Louis is as stubborn as ever. He jumps back off the bed and crowds into Harry’s space. Harry’s body reacts on reflex, all his muscles tensing, his hands flying up to protect himself, and his eyes squeezing shut tight. It doesn’t deter Louis, who reaches forward with gentle hands and lifts Harry’s mask up and off. Harry holds his breath and awaits some sort of reaction, but when nothing happens, he slowly lets his eyes flutter back open and is met with piercing blue staring right back. 

“You have pretty eyes mystery man.” 

Harry swallows and stays quiet, blinking slowly and trying to find some sort of emotion in the sea of Louis’ eyes. His body tenses up again when one of Louis’ hands reach up, fingers dancing along the scar marring Harry’s forehead to his cheek. The touch is light and gentle and it sends a shiver up Harry’s spine, as he keeps his eyes locked on Louis’. 

A knock at the door jolts the two men apart, and both snap their heads to the doors just as a maid opens it and curtsies small. 

“I am sorry to interrupt Sir Harry, but will you be having your supper in your chambers or in the dining hall?” 

Harry is about to answer when Louis steps forward and addresses the maid. 

“We’ll be eating in the dining hall. Thank you.” 

The maid curtsies again before leaving and closing the door behind her. Louis turns back to Harry with a wide, proud smile painted across his face, his eyes wide and bright. 

“Harry. I like that much better than mystery man,” Louis says with a wink before going to the door and opening it again. “Well come on, Harry. You can give me the grand tour before supper.” 

Although it’s not exactly what he expected, he supposes Louis’ reaction is better than every other time, so he shakes out any doubts that may try to claw under his skin and follows Louis out the door and down the steps from his chamber. 

“Why is your bed chamber so high up?” Louis complains when they’re about three quarters of the way down. “Did you seriously carry me up all these steps? Because wow. Also if we return there later, you’re probably going to have to carry me again because I’m not sure I can do this the other way. Man what are there, a thousand steps?” 

“A hundred and thirteen,” Harry corrects offhandedly. 

“It just seems like poor planning really. Why would you want to walk all the way up there to sleep?” 

“I enjoy the view, being able to look out over all of London.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you said that already. Oh thank god,” Louis says as the ground level comes into view. “Right. So I’ve seen the bed chamber. What’s next? What’s that room there?” 

Louis starts down the corridor, and Harry follows behind him, listening as Louis jabbers on about the wall decorations they pass. It’s a nice change. Harry prefers the sound of Louis’ lilting voice bouncing off the walls then the lonely echoing sound of his boot heel on the cobble stone floor. Louis’ presence seems to exude a warmth that alights the empty manor. It sends a fire of some sort shooting through Harry’s veins too. He can’t pinpoint the feeling that creeps and spindles in his chest, but for once he finds himself enjoying the time outside of his chambers. A genuine smile graces his face as he watches Louis poke his head into the different servant chambers then pout when there’s nothing exciting behind each door, and Harry can’t help but laugh when Louis walks into the kitchen and startles the chef. 

“You don’t think he’ll put something in my food as revenge for that, do you?” Louis asks as the pair makes their way down the corridor and away from the kitchen. 

Harry has to cover his mouth as another cackle tears from his throat at the comment. It makes him cringe as the sound rings out in the otherwise quiet corridor, but when he glances at Louis, the smaller boy has a small smile on. 

“You’ve got a nice laugh, Harry,” Louis says, his voice quieter than it’s been all night. 

“Thank you,” Harry clears his throat awkwardly and prays Louis doesn’t see the blush heating his cheeks. 

“Now, what’s behind this door?” Louis says dramatically, swinging open the only door down this corridor. 

“The drawing room,” Harry says while Louis peeks his head inside. 

Once Louis seems to deem the room alright to enter, he saunters past the doorway and into the centre of the room, doing a slow spin. Harry steps in behind and closes the door, but stays by the wall. 

“This a nice room,” Louis says plopping down on one of the sofa arranged in the room. “Bit gloomy at night but you just need some sunlight coming in through those windows I think or have that grand fireplace lit.” 

“Would you like me to light a fire?” 

“Well I certainly won’t say no if you’re offering.” 

Harry steps forward and kneels down in front of the fireplace. He arranges the wood and kindling just right before grabbing the set of matches. He gives the first lights a few blows until there’s a roaring fire then steps back. 

“There you are, sir,” Harry says, giving an over dramatic bow and lighting up when Louis laughs. 

“Thank you. Now come sit,” Louis says, patting the space next to him on the sofa. 

Harry obliges and waits patiently as Louis looks around the now bright room. His eyes land on the portrait hanging above the fireplace, and he cocks his head as he stares at it. Harry glances up at it as well. There stands a boy dressed in velvets and silks, his hands tightly clasped together as he was told. His eyes are bright and wide and his hair is slicked back with tufts of curls peeking out around the ears. Beside the boy stands a girl with a toothy grin and a cat wrangled in her arms, her silk dress ruffled with ribbons. 

“Is that your sister?” Louis asks. 

“Yes. Gemma.” 

“We haven’t come across anyone other than servants. Does she not live here at the manor?” 

“She married a Welshman and moved to Wales with him.” 

Louis nods his understanding before falling back to lay on the sofa. “I’d like to marry a Welshman,” he says, reaching a hand up to trace the ornate patterns of the ceiling. 

“Really?” Harry asks, turning to watch the way the light of the fire dances across the smaller man’s cheekbones. It makes his tan skin look even more golden, his eyelashes creating striking shadows. 

“I’d like to marry anyone man really. I love my family and my friends, I do, but Donny is so dreadfully boring. Wales sounds exciting!” 

“Gemma’s letters are positive,” Harry adds quietly. 

“Perfect! I shall marry a Welshman then. Or perhaps a Londoner instead,” Louis says, shifting his eyes to Harry. 

When Louis’ eyes don’t leave Harry’s face again, it makes a blush begin to creep up Harry’s neck again, prickling at his ears. Harry flounders for something to say, a new conversation starter so he can keep listening to Louis’ voice and laugh. He comes up empty handed though, and he is luckily saved from further mortification by the door opening. 

“There you are, Sir Harry,” the maid from earlier says, curtsying in the doorway. “I came to inform you that supper is served.” 

“Lovely!” Louis exclaims, getting up from the sofa and making his way towards the door, Harry following suit. 

“Thank you, Mathilde,” Harry says to the maid, as he and Louis make their way out of the drawing room and towards the dining hall. 

Harry and Louis take their places at the grand table where the settings are placed and both food and wine is brought out to them. They both begin to eat in silence but it isn’t long before Louis speaks up. Harry is noticing that he is a very restless soul, verbally and physically. 

“You know,” Louis begins, taking a sip of his wine. “You could hold a ball of your own in the room. It’s certainly large enough.” 

“You have to have something to celebrate to host a ball.” 

“Celebrate your new cat!” 

“I don’t have a cat.” 

“Exactly! Get a cat then celebrate it.” 

“I wouldn’t mind having a cat. I had one when I was a boy. Her name was Dusty and she would always curl up in my lap, enjoyed a good cuddle. And if you pet her just right behind the ear, she would purr really loud,” Harry smiles down at his plate as images of curling up with Dusty by the fire play back in his mind. 

When Harry looks up again, that softness from before is curling around Louis’ eyes, like soft clouds around the blue of his eyes. It makes Harry’s heart flutter, and he tries to keep his breathing normal as he finishes his supper, but is thankful Louis doesn’t laugh when he accidentally loses the grip of his fork and it goes clattering against his plate. Soon, both have finished their meals, and they sit in comfortable silence as they finish their wine. 

“So we obviously didn’t get to finish our grand tour. Did I miss any truly exciting rooms?” 

“We never visited the library. It’s my favourite room.” 

“I think I’ve heard that line before. Hmmm. Where ever could it’ve been…?” Louis mocks before settling Harry with a look. 

“No tricks this time. It truly is my favourite room.” 

“Then let’s go see it.” 

Harry nods and pushes back from the table, Louis following suit. Harry leads Louis down the winding corridors until they reach their destination. He pushes back the large double doors and lets Louis enter into the room first. Harry doesn’t miss the small intake of breath that leaves the smaller man’s lips as he enters the library. It’s the second largest room in the manor, walls lined with tall wooden shelves that stretch all the way up the ceiling. Books of all colours and binds paint the walls in a rainbow of stories and worlds. Along the far wall, two tall sets of bay windows with cushions settled in the nooks overlook the dark garden. 

“Wow,” Louis breathes. 

Louis makes his way around the large room. He runs his fingers along the different spines of books, wandering with an elegant aimlessness before settling near the grand fireplace for the room. 

“Going to light this one too, Curly?” 

Harry bites his lip around a smile and makes his way over to Louis, lighting another roaring fire. There’s only a chaise in this room and Louis curls up in one of the corners, leaving room for Harry to sit beside him. 

“So why is this your favourite room?” Louis asks, voice barely there over the crackle of the embers. 

“I dunno really. It just is.” 

“Do you come here often then?” 

“I do, yes.” 

There’s a silence after that. It falls like light snow over the pair, and Harry picks at his lip before he continues speaking. 

“I used to come in here all the time as a boy. My mother, she would always read to me.” 

“Your mother’s passed then?” 

“She died of grief they said. After Father died in the war.” 

Louis nods, but doesn’t say anything. He scoots closer, though, so his and Harry’s shoulders press together. It spreads a warmth that the fire can’t seem to provide up and down Harry’s arm, spindles reaching into his chest. 

“Mum would always read me fairy tales.” 

“Oh, I’m familiar with those. I read them to my sisters all the time. The youngest are particularly fond of Cinderella at the moment. Of course I’m more partial to King Arthur and the story of Camelot.” 

“I like the stories of true love. They used to give me hope, you know. After the accident with my horse I mean.” Harry sighs, his hand instinctively reaching up to his scar. “I felt like everyone saw me different after.” 

“Because of the scar?” Louis asks, his voice gentle. 

Harry nods and hangs his head, but then there’s a finger under his chin. He lets Louis lift and turn his head to face him. Harry’s met with open and beautiful eyes that flicker in the firelight, and it makes his breath catch in his throat. 

“I think your scar gives you character. There’s no need for you to hide behind a mask.” 

Harry’s mind goes blank at Louis’ words, not a coherent thought or word to be found in the crevices there. Although Harry belatedly thinks it’s for the best because he’s not sure he would be able to speak any words with the way his throat is seizing up with emotion. He casts his eyes towards the fire, to give his mind a focus, watching the flames dance and flicker while he gets control of his rabbiting heart. 

“Shall we read a story while we’re here then?” Harry asks after a moment, turning back to find Louis already watching him. 

“Why not. You pick one.” 

Harry slips off the chaise and wanders over to the shelves. He lets his finger glide between the books before settling on the green and gold binding of a personal favourite. He slides the book out from its home and makes his way back to the chaise. He takes a seat and opens the book on his lap. 

“The Reluctant Dragon,” he announces to Louis. 

“Good choice,” Louis comments, sliding over to press right against Harry’s side and laying his head on the curly haired man’s shoulder. 

Harry bites his lip hard at the movement, but he takes a deep breath and begins reading, giving Louis time to look at the different pictures decorating the page before turning to a new one. As Harry nears the end of the story, he notices that Louis has gone particularly still beside him, and when he glances over at the smaller boy, he notices that Louis’ eyes flutter every time he blinks. Harry smiles small at the sight before gently closing the book. 

“I think it’s time we retire to my bed chamber,” Harry suggests, keeping his voice quiet. 

“Quite presumptuous of you to think I’d be staying until morning,” Louis mumbles in reply. 

“The streets of London aren’t safe at night. Everyone knows that,” Harry points out. 

“That’s true,” Louis says around a yawn before standing up and stretching his arms high above his head. Once his arms flop back to his sides, Louis levels Harry with a lazy smile. “Let’s go then.” 

Harry returns the smile and stands up. He is quick to return the book back to its rightful place and douse the fire before leading Louis with a hand on the small of his back out of the library and through the manor towards his bed chambers. When they reach the foot of the stairs leading up to the tower, Louis stops walking and turns to Harry with crossed arms. 

“I hope you know I was kidding earlier. There is no way I am walking up all those steps.” 

“Alright then,” Harry smirks before stepping forward closer to Louis. He slides his hands under Louis’ thighs and lifts, the blue eyed boy giving an adorable squeak of protest before wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry begins the ascent up to his bed chambers, keeping his grip firm on Louis’ thighs, so the pair doesn’t go toppling over. 

“This is an interesting choice of position for carrying,” Louis comments after a minute, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“This way ensures you don’t knock your head,” Harry explains. 

When Louis doesn’t say anything in reply, Harry glances at his face and finds Louis watching his lips. Harry reflexively licks his lips, and shiver goes up his spine when Louis’ eyes track the movement. Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ thighs and tries to understand what’s occurring, but before his mind can wander too far, Louis leans forward and presses their lips together. Harry has to pause in their climb and use one hand to steady them against the wall, as Louis keeps moving his lips against Harry’s. It’s like a strike of lightning when Harry’s mind catches up with everything, and he presses Louis up against the wall of the stairwell as he works their lips together. After a few moments, Louis pulls back and begins pressing wet kisses along Harry’s jaw before settling against his ear. 

“You may want to take these steps a bit quicker, love,” he whispers, breathe hot against Harry’s skin. 

Harry doesn’t need telling twice. He tightens his grip on Louis’ thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his trousers, and makes his way up the rest of the stairs in long strides. Louis continues to kiss along the line of Harry’s neck, and the curly haired lad tries to stay focused on not letting them fall to their death. Eventually, he makes it to the door, and he pushes it open with his shoulder before dropping Louis down onto the bed. 

“Should I blow the lanterns out?” Harry asks, crawling onto the bed as well. 

“No,” Louis says, leaning forward for another kiss. “I want to see you.” 

Even though it’s said as an off handed comment, the remark makes something constrict in Harry’s chest and he presses his lips harder against Louis’, pressing the smaller man down and into the bed. Louis kisses back with just as much heat, running his hands up under Harry’s shirt and over his back, alighting his skin with pricks of ember. Harry pulls back and undoes the strings of Louis’ shirt before sliding the material up and off. He’s entranced by the soft, golden skin now exposed, and Harry can’t help leaning down and latching his lips to Louis’ collarbones almost instantly. It draws a breathy moan from Louis’ lips and that just spurs Harry on, the curly haired lad reaching down to slip Louis’ trousers off as well. Once the fabric is tossed aside, Harry moves to attach his lips to Louis’ skin once more, but before he can, Louis is wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist and flipping their position. 

“I think it’s terribly unfair that you should be wearing so many clothes and me so little,” Louis says, sliding Harry’s shirt up his chest. 

“I suppose we should change that then,” Harry says, letting his hands span the soft curves of Louis’ hips before he flips them back over. 

Before Louis can try anything else, Harry slips off the bed and removes his clothing. Louis watches his every move through his eyelashes, and it makes Harry’s cock perk up even more in interest. He crawls back onto the bed, and Louis spreads his legs for Harry to nestle in between. Harry presses their lips together once more, sliding their tongue together and resting a gentle hand on Louis’ cheek. Louis presses his hips up against Harry’s and the combination of the feel of Louis’ cock against his own and the sounds Louis keeps breathing into his mouth sends Harry’s head up into the clouds. He seems to find his focus again when Louis’ teeth dig into his lip, and Harry pulls their lips apart with a pop. 

Harry sucks his fingers into his mouth, ensuring they’re covered with saliva, then reaches down and presses one against Louis’ entrance. The muscle gives way slowly but surely, and Harry begins working his finger in and out. The movement drags a high pitched moan from Louis’ lips, and the sound sets Harry’s whole body alight. He moves his finger faster and presses in a second beside it, Louis gripping onto his bicep like it’s the only lifeline he has. Beautiful sounds keep bleeding past Louis’s lips, and Harry can’t help but lean down and capture them all between his own, as he works in a third finger. 

Louis is the one to break the kiss, pulling back and reaching down to grab Harry’s wrist and stop the movement. His eyes are wide and desperate when they look up at Harry’s, the blue almost completely swallowed by black. 

“Please,” Louis pleads, his voice raspy and sending shivers up and down Harry’s spine. 

Harry pulls his fingers out, revelling in the way it makes Louis’ eyelashes flutter, then spits generously into his hand and running it along his cock. Louis makes to move onto his stomach, but Harry stops him with a gentle hand to his hip. 

“I want to see you,” he says quietly, repeating Louis’ words from earlier and hoping the smaller boy will understand what he’s trying to convey. 

Louis gives a small nod and settles back onto his back, Harry pressing closer against his hips. Louis reaches up and twines his fingers in the hair at the back of Harry’s head, pulling him down into another kiss, and Harry uses the opportunity to begin pushing in. He can feel Louis’ intake of breath as the head slips in, and he tries to distract Louis with more kisses as he pushes fully in. Once his hips are settled against Louis’ arse, Harry starts moving his hips. It elicits more high pitched and breathy moans and whimpers from the smaller man, and Harry just watches down in adoration. The way Louis’ eyes flutter and roll back with every forward thrust. The way a delicious flush streaks down from Louis’ cheeks to his chest. The way Louis’ lungs heave and his back arches. The way Louis’ muscles jump as he writhes and grips onto Harry. It’s the most beautiful sight Harry’s ever seen, and it drives him to push harder and faster. 

Louis starts chanting Harry’s name like a prayer, and it sends Harry into overdrive. He feels like he may explode any moment now, but he wants it to be pleasurable for Louis as well. He leans down again over Louis’ collarbones and nips and sucks at the skin, and it’s not long before Louis is releasing one last cry, arching up against Harry as the warm, stickiness of his come mars the skin between them. Harry’s not long behind him, thrusting only a few more times before hitting his own orgasm. 

Both men take a moment as the fog of their highs fade, their heavy breathing the only sound in the otherwise silent room. The clearness returns to Louis’ eyes and Harry finds himself staring, breath lost somewhere deep in his lungs. 

“Your hair’s a right mess,” Louis says, breaking the silence with a chuckle and reaching up to fix some of the stray curls. 

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles quietly.  
Louis continues to watch at him with those wide eyes, small crinkles settling in the corners, and Harry can’t help but lean down and press on last chaste kiss to Louis’ lips. He then rolls over to lay beside Louis, reaching to fix the duvet over both their bodies before settling down comfortably. 

“Will you stay?” Harry asks quietly, watching the profile of Louis’ face intently for a sign. 

“Well I’ve got nowhere else to go. You said yourself London wasn’t safe this time of night,” Louis says around a yawn before turning onto his side and tugging the duvet up over his shoulders. “Besides, as I said earlier, Donny is dreadfully boring.” 

Harry has to bite his lip hard to keep his smile at bay, his heart betraying him by jumping in his chest. 

“Does it get cold in your tower?” Louis asks, his voice already fading with the heaviness of sleep. 

“It can. Shall I call a maid to bring a warming pan?” Harry offers, sitting up and pulling the duvet back before Louis can even answer. 

“No, that’s alright. You’ll just have to keep me warm,” Louis says, reaching back and pulling Harry’s arm so it drapes across his waist. Harry takes the cue and wraps Louis up, holding the smaller boy close against his chest. He reaches forward and intertwines his fingers with Louis’ hand that presses against his chest, feeling Louis’ heart as it beats in time with his own. It’s like a beautiful lullaby. It’s not long before Louis’ breathing evens out, indicating he’s fallen asleep, and Harry presses a sweet kiss behind the blue eyed boy’s ear before following suit, hoping his dreams will reflect his perfect reality.

\---

Harry wakes the next morning when the sunlight streaks through the windowpane and across his face. The rays dance behind his eyelids and guide him through the fog of sleep. He blinks open his eyes and stretches his limbs before rolling over. He’s greeted with the sight of wisps of caramel hair that shimmer in the sunlight. Louis has his cheek pressed into the pillow, and Harry finds the way half his face scrunches up because of it adorable. The smaller man’s limbs are sprawled out across the bed and the duvet hangs off his bare waist, and Harry has never felt his heart swell more than in that moment. He wishes he could call a portrait artist to come and capture this moment, so he can hold it close to his heart forever. So he could always remember the way his fingers tingled and his stomach flipped. So he could always remember feeling this happiness that’s been absent for so long. 

Harry gently moves Louis’ arms closest to him and presses against Louis’ side, nosing under his jaw. 

“Louis. Lou. Wake up.” 

Louis groans and turns his face away from Harry, but makes no other sign of being awake. 

“Louis,” Harry repeats, pressing light kisses to Louis’ shoulder blade. “It’s time to wake up.” 

Louis makes a sound somewhere between another groan and a mumble of words, and Harry has to bite his lip around a smile. 

“What was that, love?” 

“I said it’s not time to wake up. It’s time for you to get me breakfast and for me to sleep more,” Louis grumbles in response, voice rasping around the edges from sleep. 

Harry rests his head down, so his forehead lays against Louis’ spine, glad that Louis can’t see the wide smile marring his skin. 

“Deal. I’ll be back.” 

Harry gives Louis’ shoulder one last kiss, sure that he’ll never get over the way the golden skin feels beneath his lips, then slips out of the bed. He pulls on a pair of trousers and gives his hair a quick ruffle before he heads for the door. He glances back at the bed one last time, Louis’ slow and even rise of his chest indicating he’s surely fallen back asleep, before he heads down the stairs, the wide smiling never once leaving his face. 

When the next invitation for a masquerade ball is delivered to the manor, Harry and Louis get ready together, Louis securing Harry’s mask across his face. They arrive arm in arm and survey the large group of people already mingling down below in the ballroom. It’s almost strange for Harry to be in such a familiar yet unfamiliar circumstance. Usually, he’d be scanning the floor for potential love, but for once, his focus is drawn to the warmth radiating beside him, the single star Harry’s solar system revolves around. Harry turns to look at the smaller boy and wishes he could see the crinkles hiding behind the mask that Harry knows is accompanied with that wide smile. Almost as if he can sense Harry’s eyes on him, Louis turns as well, leaning up onto his toes to press his lips to Harry’s ear. 

“Look at that lady’s dress. Isn’t it hideous?” he giggles breathlessly. 

“You have no shame,” Harry says with a shake of his head, although he’s sure the smile he can’t stop from spreading across his face gives him away. 

“Says the great masked kidnapper!” 

“Is that really what they called me?” Harry asked, gently guiding Louis down the steps and into the main part of the room. 

“It’s not very catchy, is it? I personally prefer Curly,” Louis says with a smile. 

Harry rolls his eyes even though Louis can’t see it through his mask and grabs two glasses of wine from a passing waiter, holding one out to Louis. “Of course you do.” 

Harry takes a sip of his glass then watches with confusion as Louis snatches Harry’s glass from his hand then hands the curly haired lad his own. He smiles triumphantly as he takes a long sip, leaving Harry utterly confused. 

“I still don’t trust you with drinks.” 

The comment makes Harry laugh and Louis’ answering smile is almost as bright as the chandelier above their heads. Harry is sure that that smile is fast becoming his favourite thing, and butterflies bloom in his chest at the notion that he caused that smile. 

“You’re staring, Harold.” 

“You’re beautiful.” 

“Always a charmer, aren’t you?” 

Harry gives his best charming smile before leaning in and pecking Louis’ cheek. Even with the mask, Harry can tell Louis rolls his eyes, but then the music begins again with a new song and he grabs Harry’s wrist in excitement. 

“Come on! Let’s dance!” Louis exclaims.

Louis snatches Harry’s glass out of his hand again and sets it alongside his own on a passing waiter’s tray. He then grabs Harry’s wrist and pulls him towards the centre of the ballroom. Louis forcibly takes the lead as the music begins to swell, but Harry can’t say he minds. Not when Louis makes him spin round and round. Not when Louis pulls away to dance absurdly on his own. And definitely not when Louis pauses them in the middle of the ballroom and presses his lips to Harry’s.

As he and Louis glide across the floor, Harry thinks back to when he’d sit in the library curled up into his mother’s side while they read fairy tale after fairy tale. He thinks back to all the stories of prince charming and true love and happy endings, and how he wanted nothing more than for it all to happen to him. And then he thinks of Louis, bright, full of life Louis, with his sparkling eyes and his wide smiles and his tinkling laugh, but more importantly with his big heart and gentle hands. He thinks about how he pulled Louis into his life, and how Louis stayed. And maybe all those fairy tales aren’t true, but that doesn’t mean true love isn’t because Harry’s looking right at it.


End file.
